Devotion and Desire
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Because Bellatrix's heart was never her husband's.:: Bellamort, RodBella


**For-**

**Off the Block Competition- butterfly, easy level: write a oneshot about someone who doesn**'**t love their partner.**

**.**

"I hear that congratulations are in order," the Dark Lord says, the faintest hint of a knowing amusement in his cold voice.

Bellatrix doesn't have to pretend. She doesn't have to force a smile and talk about how thrilled she is to bring honor to her family, to carry on the tradition of marrying only those with worthy blood. She scowls and remains silent.

"Unhappy, my pet?" he presses, caressing her cheek.

"You know I am."

"You have your duty," he reminds her, pulling his hand away and resting it neatly against his side.

She sniffs, eyes narrowing. "Duty. But your blood is-"

"I am not a worthy suitor, my pet," he says. "I do not love. I will not love."

Bellatrix slumps at that, visibly deflated by his words. Of course, she knows it isn't love. Her master merely wants her- maybe, some days, he even needs her, but neither is the same as being loved.

"I understand, my Lord."

"Congratulations, Bella."

His words feel like a slap in the face.

**.**

She allows Rodolphus to lead her into bed. It is their honeymoon. She has a duty after all, appearances to keep up.

But his touch makes her shudder. She hates everything about him. The tenderness of his fingertips, the awkward way his lips kiss a trail from her jaw to her chest.

He is not enough. This timid love will never satisfy her.

But she has a duty. She has no choice.

**.**

"Does your husband know that you're here?" her master muses, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and watching her with dark eyes.

_Husband. _When he delivers the word, it is little more than a stinging insult. Bellatrix wonders if he means to provoke her. Undoubtedly, he does.

"Where I am and what I do is none of his concern," she says sharply.

His fingers tangle in her hair, pulling roughly so that her head jerks back almost painfully. "Not many can talk to me like that, pet," he laughs. "But your fire is so delightful."

**.**

"Where have you been?" Rodolphus asks when she returns home one night, sore and secretly bruised.

"Out."

His expression darkens, and his fingers curl inward, transforming his hands into fists. Bellatrix wonders if he might strike her. God knows it's the first semblance of passion she's seen in him since they had exchanged their vows. For a flicker of a moment, she feels the first sparks of attraction. Is her timid husband a man after all, and not a meek little mouse willing to let her walk all over him?

But the moment passes, and he relaxes, moving closer and pulling her into his arms. "I was worried," he sighs.

Bellatrix pushes him away, lips curling in disgust. No, he is still too weak, too feeble to satisfy her.

**.**

"My Lord," she whispers, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

She wants him to order her to stay. He never does, and she would never dare ask outright. Bellatrix knows all too well how little tolerance her master has for intimate interaction.

"That is all," comes the emotionless reply.

With little choice, Bellatrix climbs to her feet and takes her time dressing, her movements deliberate and almost teasing. If she tries hard enough, maybe he'll want more of her. Maybe he won't send her away.

But no order comes, and, wishing things were different, she leaves.

**.**

"You smell like another man," Rodolphus notes.

Bellatrix almost laughs. "Aren't you clever?" she sneers, patting his cheek condescendingly.

He catches her wrist, slinging her arm away. "Why?"

"You poor, poor soul."

"Doesn't our marriage mean anything to you?" he demands.

"Of course it does. It means that I'm bringing my family honor by pretending to be the happy Mrs. Lestrange," she answers coldly, enjoying the way her words cause him to recoil.

She can hurt him. She may not be able to leave him, but she can still make him miserable. That will have to be enough.

"You don't love me."

"No. I don't."

**.**

"Trouble in paradise?" the Dark Lord asks with a knowing smile.

"I would hardly call it paradise," she answers dryly.

"Of course not. You may go, pet. I do not need you tonight."

Bellatrix looks up at him with wide eyes. He has never sent her away so quickly with absolutely nothing. "MyLord?"

Without a word, he waves a dismissive hand, his eyes narrowing dangerously and leaving no room for her to protest.

**.**

She doesn't apologize. She doesn't even bother to look contrite as she grabs Rodolphus roughly by the shoulders and crashes her lips against his in a bruising kiss.

He doesn't protest, doesn't resist. "Bella," he murmurs, his voice soft as a lover's touch.

She hates him for it. She doesn't want him. She doesn't love him.

But tonight, just for tonight, she needs him.


End file.
